For the First Time
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: It's Christmas 1937 and Sybbie Branson has a question for her father - one which makes him realise just how grown up his baby girl is. "Da, how did you know that you were in love with Mama?" *Spoilers for series three*


_**So this is a response to an anonymous request I received on Tumblr which was for Tom telling Sybbie stories - this is from the same universe as 'Forever and Always' and 'Coping Strategies' (In which Tom and Sybbie left for Ireland again in around 1930) I suppose which makes it completely canon compliant. I might make a series of Tom/Sybbie stories because I must admit I'm fascinated by the idea of the next generation of Downton. Anyway, I hope to get the next chapter of I'll Be Seeing You published soon (shameless plug) but I just felt like sharing this first. Enjoy :) x**_

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_**Downton, Christmas 1937**_

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and nibbles her bottom lip as she tries to figure out the best way to phrase her question without eliciting a thousand more from her father before she's even had a chance to explain herself.

"Da," she says almost timidly as she approaches the desk where he works in the library. "Can I ask you something? Only if you have a minute, I'll come back later if not."

"For you, my darling, I've got all the time in the world," he says, setting down his pen and looking up at his daughter. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... well, not exactly," she replies, fidgeting with the cuffs of her blouse.

Tom sighs and takes off his glasses. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Because you're beginning to worry me a bit. You've been a bit... distant lately."

"Da, how did you know that you were in love with Mama?"

Tom raises his eyebrows in surprise and leans back in his chair. "I... I'm not sure, really. I suppose I just always knew that I was."

"Love at first sight then, that sort of thing?"

Her father chuckles. "In hindsight I suppose it was, yes. Though it was a while before I actually realised it." He goes quiet for a moment, his eyes glassy as he stares off into the distance, losing himself in the memory of another life and the first time he saw her face. "Sybbie, love, you know who I was when your mother and I met. Things had to be... well, they weren't really allowed at all but that's beside the point. She wasn't much younger than you are now when we first met. If she'd been one of the lasses I knew from back home then I probably would have asked her for a dance at a wedding and let that be that. But she wasn't... she wasn't just above me, she was something special. Even if she **had** been one of those girls in Ireland, I probably wouldn't have had the courage to go up and speak to her because she was just... she took my breath away, really she did. Oh Sybbie, I wish you could have seen her, she was so beautiful."

"I know... I've seen the photographs," she smiles weakly. She keeps a stack of them hidden away in an old box underneath her bed - the box had also belonged to Sybil and both mother and daughter had, unbeknownst to anyone bar themselves, had used it to treasure mementos of their lives. The box was filled with keepsakes belonging to the two generations of Crawley women (for everyone had always commented on how Sybbie was more of a Crawley than a Branson - even her father had to admit it) - a swatch of the material used to make Sybil's infamous harem ensemble, a blank invitation from her ball, the daffodil Tom had given her as a token on her eighteenth birthday when he'd forgotten to get her anything and the order of service from their wedding among many other things. From Sybbie, there are postcards from Aunt Edith sent from all over the world, a programme from the first time Aunt Mary took her to the ballet in London and they'd had afternoon tea at Claridge's and the thing that was perhaps her most secret possession - her diary.

"But, Da, when did you actually **know**? What made you realise that she was the one for you?"

"Did I ever tell you about my first Christmas here at Downton?"

Sybbie shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

Tom moves across the room towards the plush red sofas by the warmth of the fire, his daughter following close behind. "She came to see me on Christmas Eve," he says. "It was the first time I'd ever been away from home and, somehow, she seemed to notice that I wasn't quite myself. Anyway, she bought me a present... I felt guilty for not having bought her anything in return so I made her a promise."

"What was the promise?"

"Well there were two actually," he says, swallowing the lump in his throat as the thought of what he's about to share with their daughter begins to overwhelm him slightly. "The first was that I'd write her a letter if ever we were parted. I did whenever she'd go off to London for the season or up to Scotland to spend time with your family up there and I still do now..."

"Da?"

"Every year on your birthday I write her a letter... then I go and read it to her."

Sybbie reaches out and squeezes her father's hand - it hurts her to see that even after seventeen years he still mourns her mother. When she was fourteen, she'd confessed to her Aunt Mary that she thought that it was her fault her mother had died - what she hadn't known was that Tom had heard every word and he'd sat with her a great deal of that night trying to convince his little girl otherwise. There is, however, a part of her that still blames herself for what happened, even though she knows deep in her heart that it was nothing more than a cruel twist of fate.

"Do you still have the letters?"

Tom nods. "Yes."

"Can I read them?"

"Of course you can, my darling, of course you can," he says, reaching out and tucking a loose curl back behind her ear.

"So what was the second promise?"

"That I'd ask her to dance at the servants' ball... only problem was that I didn't have a clue how to dance."

"But you're a wonderful dancer," says Sybbie. "I've watched you."

Her father laughs. "That's only because of your mother," he says. "She taught me there and then on a freezing cold night in a dusty old garage. I think that was probably the moment I began to start seeing her as more than just a friend which, believe me, was scandalous enough as it is!"

"That garage is practically holy ground for you, isn't is?" she asks with a smirk. "So much happened to the two of you in there."

"Aye it did," says Tom. "So many memories... Your aunts and I put up quite the fight when your grandfather said that he wanted to tear it down and rebuild it. Even your great-grandmother agreed... that was the day hell froze over and pigs flew in the sky."

Sybbie laughs. "You really were in love, weren't you?"

"We were, yes... you're so much like her you know, so much so that it almost feels like she's still with us sometimes."

"I don't look like her though," she replies, staring down at her feet. "Like you said, she was beautiful."

"Hey now," he says, noticing the change in his daughter's mood. "What's all this about? You're incredibly beautiful."

"Freddie Deveraux doesn't think so... he still sees me as the little girl with scraped knees and a muddy dress."

"Ahhh, so that's what all this is about. You... you're in love?"

Sybbie nods. "I think so, yes," she replies with a faint blush colouring her cheeks. "The thought hadn't even crossed my mind until I saw him at that dinner at Aunt Edith and Uncle Evelyn's over the summer but... as you said you just... you just know. We've been writing to each other since then and it's quite clear that he only thinks of me as a friend. I'm being stupid, I know I am..."

"Sybbie, look at me, you are **not** being stupid," Tom says, looking straight into the eyes of his daughter that are an exact replica of his own and wondering when on earth his baby girl had blossomed into the young woman sitting here beside him. "Tell him... tell him exactly how you feel. Mary's invited him up for the ball, yes?"

"Yes but... that's not very proper, is it?"

Tom rolls his eyes. "You've either been spending too much time with your aunt or reading too many novels. Your mother once said that her only regret was that she didn't tell me how she felt about me sooner... don't make that mistake. The worst that could happen is that he could say no and, if he does, then he isn't worth it and doesn't deserve you... though, as your father, I find it hard to believe how any man could possibly deserve you."

"Or he could make me wait for three years before giving me his answer."

Tom laughs. "Even if he did, every single second of those three years would be worth it."

"Da, do you think that love only happens once? Were you ever in love before you met Mama?"

"I thought I was," he replies truthfully. "There were a couple of girls I walked out with back in Ireland, one of whom I was absolutely convinced I was going to marry. Then your mother came along and I realised that what I felt for those girls was nothing more than a childish fancy... lust, if anything I suppose."

"And what about after?"

"It's been seventeen years, Sybbie..."

"I know, but... don't you ever get lonely?"

"No... not really," he replies. "Besides, I've got you haven't I? Unless you're planning on going somewhere."

Sybbie shifts uncomfortably. "Umm... I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually. How would you feel if I went away to University next autumn? Not back in Dublin though, here... in England."

"If that's what you wanted to do then I would support you every single step of the way. Where did you have in mind?"

"Cambridge," she replies. "I think I'd like to read English."

"Then good look to you," says Tom with a melancholy smile - he'll miss her if she chooses to leave Ireland, but she can't stay his baby girl forever and the time will come when he has to let her spread her wings and fly. Little Sybbie Branson in love and ready to leave the nest - if only her mother could see her now...

But, in all honesty, he's almost certain that she can.


End file.
